


Amor Amor

by demonsonthemoon



Series: Cacharel Verse [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Bigender Character, Other, non-explicit reference to past self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 14:55:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3072224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonsonthemoon/pseuds/demonsonthemoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hopeless Romantic, written in red ink on her skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amor Amor

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this ad for the perfume “Amor Amor, Forbidden Kiss” by Cacharel. Jehan is bigender in this verse, using female pronouns in this fic. She’s also trying to get rid of a self-harm habit. There is no reference to that in this fic though. The poem she and Grantaire quote is “The feet of people walking home” by Emily Dickinson. Jehan’s cheesy poem is mine.

Grantaire opened the door to his apartment with a sigh. The place was an old, dingy-looking thing with the power to make everyone feel sorry for it. The elevator smelled of pee, and the stairs were only better because they didn’t involve staying stationary in the pee smell.  
Jehan and Grantaire had been living there for two years now. They’d gotten used to it.

Grantaire dropped his bag on the kitchen counter and ran a hand through his hair. He’d spent nearly all afternoon working on his art project for university and could feel a headache making itself comfortable in some dark corner of his brain. He put his jacket on the back of a chair and made his way to Jehan’s bedroom.  
The door leading to it was ajar, letting through the barest hint of light. Jehan was sitting on her bed, the left sleeve of her sweater rolled up, a red sharpie in her hand.

"Oh," she said, the light from her bedside lamp giving her face a ghost-like appearance. "You’re home." She started chewing on the cap of the marker.  
“‘re you okay?” Grantaire asked, carefully sitting on the side of the bed.  
Jehan nodded, and extended her arm for him to see. Hopeless Romantic had been calligraphed in red ink on the pale skin. Grantaire pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. He slowly pulled the sharpie out of the girl’s hand, unfurling her fingers one by one. She sighed and lied down against her pillows.  
Grantaire slowly traced the letters on her arms with his fingertips, before splaying them on her neck. Jehan obligingly turned her head to the side to leave him more space. Slowly, in a small script, Grantaire drew the words Night is the morning’s Canvas on her skin.

"Larcency - Legacy  
Death, but our rapt attention  
To Immortality.”

Grantaire hummed in approval, lips hovering over the quote he had just traced.  
"Are we in an Emily Dickinson mood?" Jehan asked, sitting up to take off her sweater and the tank-top she was wearing under it.  
"I don’t know," Grantaire retorted, sitting down on her thighs. "Are you?"  
She didn’t reply immediately, instead letting Grantaire run a hand on her chest and belly.

"I’m in a mood, you know,  
Of letting myself let go.”  
Grantaire smiled and pressed a kiss on Jehan’s hip as he started writing on her skin.  
"Tired of holding on  
And chasing dreams long gone.”

While she gathered her thoughts, Grantaire slowly drew a flower rising from her navel to bloom above the stanza he had just transcripted. Jehan shivered and smiled at the sensation.

"But then again, what worth have dreams  
Not tearing apart at the seams?  
Visions of riches mean nothing  
Compared to dreams of you, darling.”

Grantaire smiled as he wrote the last word. Putting both elbows on either side of Jehan’s head, he carefully positioned himself above her. “That was cheesy.”  
Jehan looked up at him, eyes sparkling through a few tears. “What can I say? Someone has to be hopeful for you, sometimes.”  
Grantaire slowly bent down and pressed his lips against hers, a hand running through her long brown hair. She laid on hand on his back, keeping him close.  
"You really don’t have to," Grantaire murmured against her ear.


End file.
